Page 18 of Burying Venus

This was so at odds with the hapless creature in Dermot’s mind that he said nothing more, opening the door to Mrs Aisling with a flourish, cheeks burning with shame.

‘While you boys have been gone, I have penned another missive,’ Mrs Aisling said. ‘Dermot, will you deliver this for me? It is for the hands of Lord Stanley himself. If you would, make your way to his chamber, or else entrust it to one of his fine sons.’ She waved it about until it was safely in his possession. ‘I dare say I have nothing else for you to do.’

Dermot nodded once and left, having spent only a short time in her company but already feeling ill at ease lest he find himself in such unfortunate circumstances again. Even Béchard, for allhis cussing, was saner than she. What the maids endured daily did not bear thinking on.

‘I would avoid Will if you can,’ Dermot said, now they were safely away. ‘He has deeper ambitions, you understand.’

‘Everything has been wrong since you put that in the food,’ Stephen said, enunciating each word painstakingly slowly so Dermot’s horror rose to a crescendo.

‘Stephen,’ Dermot said, fairly terrified. ‘If you do not repeat what you’ve said, I will think on how to improve Will’s mood.’

The look of joy on Stephen’s face was enough to turn a man’s stomach. ‘Please! I think you’re smart, Dermot, so now I’m happy.’

They continued on in silence. Since they hadn’t spent enough time away for the damnable thing to cook, there was another task to be completed that he’d avoided since that morning. Robert’s and Tristan’s hunting boots were to be shined. Pressing himself soundly to the wall before they got in sight of them, Dermot uncrumpled the note and cast his eyes on it.

It was neither eloquent nor succinct, though evidently a great matter to Mrs Aisling. It was, in short, a complaint that the maids refused to go upstairs and lay down the handkerchiefs. Doubtless this was due to Tristan, who wasn’t known for courtly love and made no effort waiting for his prey to yield. Dermot heard he took them whenever he wanted, even though they were at work. But Mrs Aisling, who doubtless knew this, intended to revoke their positions and turn them out to the street with no regard for their futures. This was the great evil of the employer, for they were responsible for the wellbeing of vulnerable people. That people starved or froze was of no consequence to them, and they made women endure this despite knowing they might be forced into prostitution. And while Robert was a simple evil, a pantomime villain even Stephen might understand, Mrs Aisling was worse, for she was a traitor to her own.

Thoroughly disgusted, Dermot tore the missive apart and opened the door to the courtyard where the boots lay waiting, letting the wind have it.

‘What was that?’ Stephen said, content as always. He had thoughtfully brought the brushes along with a bucket of water from outside.

Dermot grabbed the brush and settled himself beside Aubrey’s boots. Fine and tender, they were made for delicate feet. Washing them should have been an act of worship, yet as he gripped the leather, a pang shot through him, darkening his senses until he thought to thrust the boots at Stephen.

‘Dermot?’ Stephen stuttered.

‘Take them. Give me Tristan’s,’ Dermot said.

Dutifully, Stephen pushed Tristan’s over and took Aubrey’s for himself, fiddling with the laces until they came undone. ‘I thought you liked Aubrey,’ he said.

‘It’s no matter whose boots I clean,’ Dermot spat. It occurred to him only moments later that, having made the request, it evidently did.

He undid the laces as if Tristan stood over him, haughty and snarling. The unnaturalness of his station was evident, for in a simpler time he could’ve given Tristan a sound beating without much trouble at all.

‘Will!’ Stephen shouted, just as Dermot flicked the brush about, splattering droplets of water across the walls of the alcove they were safely nestled in.

Will came to them and sat beside Stephen when he usually would’ve made the trip over to Dermot, getting to work on his own burden. Ironically and without meaning to, they’d left him his own favourite’s to do.

‘Well,’ Dermot began, giving Tristan’s boots a thorough scrubbing. Every possible slit was coated in dirt. ‘How is it coming along? Is Béchard happy for us to come back after this?’

Will threw the brush onto Robert’s boots so water drenched the floor surrounding them. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Right,’ Dermot said, recalling his promise to Stephen. It was nothing to him if the great beast considered Will a friend, but his own secret was a great matter. If such a thing were to be mentioned, even by Stephen, Béchard would take it up with Lord Stanley. ‘And you learned a bit, did you?’

From the lack of reply, Dermot surmised Will was still nursing some hurt. Turning to take note of his expression, he was met by blue eyes already boring a hole into whatever remained of his soul, and he shivered. He hadn’t realised Will could become so vexed, his ire being like that of a woman.

‘These shoes are fairly dirty,’ Dermot said.

‘Damn you!’ Will shouted, Robert’s boots drenched. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’

Having cleaned Tristan’s boots with the cloth and now inching towards the beeswax laid out next to him, Dermot was sorely tempted to throw it at the bastard. Kindly, however, and not without practised restraint, Dermot twisted the cap and dabbed it onto another cloth tucked neatly at his side, beginning the final polishing.

‘Ignoring me now, are you?’ Will said. ‘I wish you had done so with Robert or, better yet, your Aubrey. You’d do well to keep your mouth shut completely. It would save us all some grief.’

‘Will!’ Dermot shouted, mask of stoicism giving way to the heat beneath. ‘What have I done? It’s just like you, forever on the side of Béchard. Telling me to shut up! What good has it done you with Robert? I’d say it makes him all the keener.’

Will shouted and got to his feet, and Dermot jumped up immediately, inching back. He keenly remembered the hurt done to him the last time they were together. And while it hadn’t been severe, he was eager to avoid it happening again.

‘Why can’t you stay with your own and keep your head down, do you think the rest of us want to deal with your prattling? And now you’ve drawn Robert’s eyes our way, and who has to suffer for it?’ Will whispered. In the midst of his fury, he at least recalled their station. If anyone was to hear them talk so, it could be dismissal, or worse, a hearty push from the ramparts.